His Girl Friday
by JA Baker
Summary: John Sheppard knew that there were worse things than being stranded alone on a planet with Elizabeth Weir, but right then and there, he couldn't think of any...
1. Cosmic Castaways

_The Stargate universe and all assosiated chareters __were created by__ someone else who's name I can't be bothered to look up, and I presume that they own all the relevant rights and such. __All I own is an over-active imagination.  
__Spoilers for season 2 and/or 3 (I've not decided when it's set just yet)_

**His Girl Friday  
****Part 1: Cosmic Castaways**

Sheppard cursed under his breath as he put the Puddle Jumper back into a steep dive, heading back down through the upper atmosphere in a desperate bid to avoid the oncoming Wraith Cruiser. While the nimble little transport could have taken on the much bigger starship and stand an excellent chance of successfully shooting it down, it would revel their location to the Wraith, and that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

It was supposed to have been a milk-run; transport Dr Weir to a friendly planet for a ceremony that would finalise the trade agreement between the planets pacifist population and the Atlantis expiation. Fresh food for medical assistance, something they had negotiated a dozen times over. In fact, the mission had looked so dull that McKay, Teyla and Ronon had managed to beg their way out of going, leaving Sheppard to escort her with a pair of Marines, simply because the regulations demanded at least some kind of bodyguard.

The first sign that something was wrong had been the explosion that had incinerated the two Marines, along with several villagers. The _once-heard-never-forgotten_ buzz of Wraith Darts filled the air as the village descended into chaos. It had been all he could do to grab Weir by the arm and physically drag her to the small grove of trees where he had landed the Jumper. Thankfully the foliage seemed to hide the pod from the Wraith and they ignored it. Sheppard had activated the cloak the moment they had enough power, then took off, much to his passengers protests, headed for the gate in orbit. That was when he found how truly screwed they were. It wasn't just a normal culling: the Wraith had come to stay, with a Hive leading a small convoy of what had to be supply and support ships along with an entire armada of Cruisers and countless Darts. The hostile ships filled the sky, cutting them off from the Stargate. Even if they could have gotten to it, dialling Atlantis would have been like sending the Wraith an engraved invite, letting them know that the city was still intact and open for business.

Sheppard knew that if they didn't check in or return within the next few hours, then Atlantis would dial in and try and make radio contact. All they needed to do was hide until then and arrange for the _Daedalus_ to come pick them up somewhere in the outer system. In many way they were lucky; the binary system had four inhabitable planets, but only one with a human population, and only one Stargate. At least one of the other planets, the next in towards the systems primary, was within easy range for the Jumper, so they had a refuge to settle down on if the worst came to the worst. They had almost no information on the planet, other than what had been in the Ancient database; it was a small but dense planet, with a surface gravity of 0.89-G's and a humid climate. Under better circumstances, it looked like a perfect holiday destination, but it was still slap-bang in the middle of a Wraith infested system.

"We could have saved some of the villager." Weir protested as they continued to dive towards the planet, "You shouldn't have pulled me away like that."

"And what would you have done if I hadn't?" Sheppard asked, trying to concentrate their angle of decent: the last thing he wanted to do was leave a plasma trail that would have been as good as decloaking in front of the Hive and asking to be blown to smithereens.

Weir sat still for a moment, unable to come up with an answer that made any sense. She looked at the controls, trying to make sense of it all.

"So, what's the plan?" She asked.

"Try not to get killed until we can contact Atlantis." Sheppard explained, having to fight the controls harder than normal, "They can send the _Daedalus_ to pick us up."

"There might be a problem with that." Weir bit her lower lip, "Caldwell was ordered back to Earth just before we left; some kind of emergency."

"What?" Sheppard looked round, the controls starting to visible shake in his hands, "And you never thought to tell me?"

"With all due respect, it never crossed my mind." Weir pointed at the red-lights that had started appear on the HUD, "Is that normal?"

"Truthfully, no." Sheppard pulled back as hard as he could, but the Jumper refused to respond, "I think that near-miss back when we were taking off mat not have been so much of a miss after all; she's not responding." he concentrated for a moment, bringing up the diagnostic subroutine, "The main engines are off-line, and I think I may have burnt out the back-ups."

"What's the good news?"

"That was the good news: the bad news is that we're going into some kind of slingshot manoeuvre, the sort of thing NASA uses to launch deep-space probes."

"Are you saying that we're going to be sent into deep space?"

"I don't think so." Sheppard concentrated again, bringing up the navigational system, "No, looks like we're going to head in-system. That's good."

"Good?" Weir snapped, "How is that 'good'?"

"Well, if I'm reading this correctly, then we're going to get caught in the gravity well of the second planet." Sheppard fought the controls, trying to keep the Jumper as stable as he could, "It's habitable, but uninhabited, so the Wraith might not bother with it."

"Is there a Stargate?"

"No."

"Then I fail to see the good side!"

"We'll be alive, unlike everyone down there once the Wraith have gotten done with them." The Jumper stopped shaking, heading out of the atmosphere and away from the Wraith ships, "Okay, this is it: Sir Isaac Newton is now in the driver's seat."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard sat hunched over a laptop they'd found while taking an inventory of their supplies, tapping away as quietly as he could so as not to wake Weir. They had agreed to take turns watching for any further problems, but so far it looked like it was only the propulsion systems that had been damaged: life support, artificial-gravity and the cloaking device were all thankfully operational. What he hadn't let on was the fact that he had been unable to get a proper response from the emergency landing systems. The diagnostic said that they were fully operational, but there was no way to test them before they reached the planet they were hurtling towards. Given that there was nothing they could do, he felt that it was perhaps best keep quiet about it, at least for the time being. Even with the _Daedalus_ out of the picture, there was still a chance that Atlantis would be able to launch a rescue mission using one of the other Jumpers.

Putting the laptop down, he reached for the now cold cup of coffee perched on the controls and swallowed the bitter liquid in one mouthful: they had emergency rations to feed up to six people for a month, as well as two extensive medical kits and sundry other equipment. One thing they were lacking in was weapons. Aside from Sheppard's P90 and Beretta, they had no guns, only a pair of large survival knifes. While that was enough for most survival situations, they would be severally under-gunned should they run into the Wraith once they landed.

Putting the now empty coffee cup back down, he went back to work, trying to make sence of the data the laptop was getting out of the Jumpers on-board systems.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The planet was growing ever closer in the view port, soon reaching the point where they could make out the individual continents and islands that dotted its deep blue seas.

"Any idea where we're going to land?" Weir asked.

"Somewhere just outside the northern tropics, I think." Sheppard brought the navigational display back up, "But as long as it's dry land, I'm not that bothered."

"Can't we scout around? Try and find somewhere with fresh water and good cover?"

"Considering how much I had to push the backup's to stop us from crashing back there, we're pretty much going to land where inertia tells us to. As it is, this landing is going to get pretty interesting."

"Define 'interesting'?"

"'Oh my God, oh my God, we're going to die'?"

"And you didn't think to tell me this before?"

"Well, given that there's nothing either of us can do about it, I felt it was best not to upset you..."

"**UPSET?**" Weir screamed, "**WHY ON EARTH WOULD I BE UPSET!**"

"Elizabeth, you're not helping." Sheppard wrestled with the controls as they started to enter the outer atmosphere, "And I'm pretty sure I can land this thing in one piece."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The landing itself was a lot worse then Sheppard had hoped for; the emergency systems managed to keep the jumper on an even keel, while the inertial dampeners bled off most of their speed. In fact, everything was going well until they clipped the side of a mountain, ripping away one of the drive pods. Mortally wounded, the Jumpers rather simple minded computer put the last of its power into the inertial dampeners, doing its best to protect its occupants as it tumbled out of control. It first hit the ground on the slope of a low hill and bounced off, taking to the air again as it passed over a semi-tropical forest. When it came down again, it hit the trees hard, knocking them aside as it continued on its destructive path. Bouncing up one last time, the Jumper cleared the edge of the forest and landed in the middle of a meadow, kicking up a huge cloud of earth and rock as it ploughed across the landscape, before finally coming to rest at the edge of a small grove of trees. Smoke and venting gasses filled the air as the transports rear hatch fell to the ground with a resounding thud, instead of the slow, controlled decent it normally made.

Sheppard dragged the unconscious Weir out of the stricken Jumper and lay her carefully on the soft grass, before running back into the pod and grabbing both of the first-aid kits. The cut above her left eye was bleeding, but it didn't seem that deep, do he pressed a sterile dressing on it and taped it down. Her left arm was obviously broken, and he knew that if he didn't set it, there was the risk that it would heal and have to be re-broken later. Making sure he knew where the break was, he carefully pulled her arm and shoulder out of her jumpsuit. Placing one foot against her arm-pit, he pulled sharply, the two half's of the broken limb sliding back into place. The sudden flash of pain was enough to wake Weir, and she screamed, her head spinning when she tried to sit op.

"Whoa there, Elizabeth!" Sheppard did his best to hold her down, worried that she might hurt herself in her confused condition. He moved round until he was stilling behind her, her head resting on his lap, "You got banged up a little, but every thing's going to be okay." He held her as she tried to get her breathing back under control, her teeth clenched in pain, "Every thing's going to be okay."

**To Be Continued...**


	2. Strange New Worlds

**His Girl Friday  
****Part 2: Strange New Worlds...**

The night was surprising cold, but there were enough brunches around for Sheppard to build a reasonably sized camp-fire, using the flint-and-steel from the survival kit to start it and then adding kindling. Soon the blaze was large enough to warm them, but he wrapped a foil blanket round Weir to try and fend off the shock that was setting in. Grabbing the emergency rations, he started to boil some water to make tea, knowing that it would not only help Weir fight the shock, but was also one of her favourites.

"John..." Her voice was frighteningly soft and weak, "The Jumper..."

"Nothing you need to worry about." He rushed to her side, offering her water from one of the canteens, "We just have to sit tight until the other's figure out what happened and come rescue us." He smiled faintly, "Hey, isn't Carson always telling you to take a few days off?"

"R...radio?"

"No; we're to far from the Stargate to get a clean signal, and even if we could, there'd be too much of a time-delay lag for it to be effective."

"The beacon?"

"Working, but we don't know enough about Wraith technology to know if they monitor subspace, and it is a wide-band transmission. It's just not worth the risk."

They lapsed into silence, both just looking at the fire. Weir tried to shift, cursing when the broken bones in her arm ground against each other, despite the inflatable cast Sheppard had fitted round it. He made the tea as best he could, unused to anything but freeze-dried instant coffee, and helped her into a sitting position to make it easier for her to drink. The hot liquid help warm her up, but her head still swam every time she tried to move it.

"I think I've got a concussion." She winced, her voice a little stronger than before.

"I'd say that that was a fair bet." Sheppard smiled as he put the tin mug down, "Your seat gave way when we stopped, and you got thrown into the controls. It could have been worse; if you hadn't thrown up your arm to protect yourself, you might have been killed."

"How badly damaged is the Jumper?" Weir asked, "And I want the truth this time."

"Let's just say that she won't be flying again." Sheppard looked across the fire to the stricken craft, "Most of the systems are off-line, but there's still some power, enough for short-range communications and sensors."

"How short?"

"A few miles at best."

"We'll need fresh water..."

"We've got more than enough for tonight." Sheppard leaned back against a fallen tree, resting Weir against his shoulder, ""We'll worry about it tomorrow."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard woke first, and for a moment couldn't remember where he was. All he did know what that he was curled up behind somebody, one arm draped over them protectively. He inhaled deeply, a slight smell of roses and something else, something he couldn't identify, but was somehow familiar. Whatever it was, it made him feel safe and happy, something he hadn't felt for a very long time. Then the past few days memories came flooding back, and he slowly opened his eyes: chestnut coloured hair filled his field of vision, and he pulled his arm away so as not to wake Weir from her much needed sleep.

"That could have been awkward." He warned himself, looking round; the near of the systems two suns had already risen, but he suddenly realised that he had no idea if and when they would see the other. The Jumper had stopped smoking, but it was clear that it would not be leaving the planet under its own power. Still, it was shelter, and until they had a better idea what to expect from the weather, it might be needed. He prodded the fire for a moment, before fetching more wood and kindling to restart it; alien planet or no alien planet, he still needed his early morning cup of coffee, at least for as long as their supply's held out or they were rescued.

"Oh god." Weir groaned as she woke, "What hit me?"

"A planet." Sheppard smiled, glad to see that she had woken of her own initiative; a good sign that the concussion wasn't as bad as he had feared. "How you feeling."

"Let's just say that I haven't felt this bad since my collage room-mate got me to try Tequila." Weir managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, "Have we got any pain-killers?"

"Some, but I'd rather not give you anything too strong until you've gotten over that concussion."

"Aspirin?"

"That I can do." Sheppard dug through one of the medical kits until he found some aspirin, then handed it over with a canteen of water, "Tea?"

"Thank you." Weir nodded as she bit off the warping on the pain killers and then downed them with a mouthful of water. In truth, it was all she could do to keep even the water down, but the last thing she wanted to do was worry Sheppard any more than she already had. The truth was that she was feeling better, even if her left arm was in near constant agony. She looked round, "You said you were going to find some fresh water today."

"No, I'm not letting you out of my sight until your feeling better." Sheppard shook his head as he poured near-boiling water into the two tin mugs, adding a little powdered milk to the tea but non to the coffee. "Anyway, we have more than enough to last us a few days, and hopefully Atlantis will have been in contact by then."

"I'm not a total invalid." Weir protested.

"I'm not saying you are. But we're on a strange planet with limited supplies and no way of knowing for sure that the Wraith didn't detect us."

"If they detected us, they'd be here by now. And if they did find us, just how do you suppose we fight them off?"

"It's the principle of the thing, Elizabeth. And before you say anything, I am _not_ being sexist: as head of the expeditions military contingent, it is my job to keep you safe, no matter what the circumstances."

"I know that, but it doesn't change the fact that, if the others don't find us, or can't for what ever reason launch a rescue mission, then we're going to need a reliable supply of fresh water."

"Tomorrow, okay? I'll look tomorrow, if, and only IF, you're feeling better."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard spent the rest of the morning exploring the small grove the Jumper had come to rest on the edge of. He had hoped to find a spring or some other readily available supply of fresh water, but found none. He did collect what fruit and nuts he could find, making a mental note of where they could be found if the scanner back at the Jumper could tell them which were edible and which weren't. Not knowing for sure if the planet, or at lest that part of it, was home to dangerous predictors, he had left Weir with his Beretta with strict instructions to shoot first and worry about intentions later.

While he may not have agreed with everything the NRA said or did, with the situation they found themselves in, it was definitely a case of it being better to have and not need than need and not have. Finding no water, and with the planets primary almost overhead (he made a mental note to work out just how long the local days were) he started back towards the camp.

The smell of smoke assaulted his nostrils and he started into a dead run, dodging low branches and tree roots the size of his leg and he dashed back towards the crash site, expecting to find the Jumper in flames. Instead he found a low fire burning away happily, Weir trying her best to fill the large pot he had used to boil water from one of the canteens. But with one arm immobilised and her head still swimming with the after affects of the concussion, she was finding it harder to keep the water from spilling out over the fire. Sheppard held back at the tree-line, a faint smile on his lips as he watched her struggle; while he hated the fact that she had been hurt at a time when he was supposed to be guarding her, the stubborn streak that refused to let her ask for his help was pure Elizabeth Weir. She swore as the canteen slipped through her fingers and she instructively tried to stop it with her left hand. He rushed to her side without thinking, and managed to grab the canteen before too much of the contents spilt out. Weir fumed, as much out of embarrassment as pain, which made Sheppard laugh slightly.

"You were watching, weren't you?" It was more of a statement than a question, the concussion having cleared up enough as to not imped her reasoning.

"Not for long." Sheppard smiled, not noticing the slight edge to her voice, "You just looked so determined to fill that pot."

"Oh did I?" Weir almost snarled, her anger, frustration and pain bubbling over like a volcanic eruption, "Well I'm glad that I could be entertaining."

"That's not what I meant!" Sheppard went on the defensive, his own sence of guilt and anger fulling his words more than common sence, "What I meant was that you must be feeling better if you're back to disobeying..."

"Disobeying?" Weir snapped, "Since when did I ever have to obey YOU?"

"Since we found ourselves in a military situation!"

"A situation we would not have found ourselves in if you hadn't acted so rashly!"

"Me? Rash? I'm not the one trying to fill a kettle with a broken arm!"

The argument continued for some time, the accusations becoming more venomous and less rational until Weir finally stood and stormed off into the Jumper, leaving a heavy tension in the air. Sheppard looked at the fire for a moment, then stormed off back into the trees.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It was almost dark by the time he found his way back to camp, the anger and resentment that had fuelled his earlier outbursts having long since been walked off, leaving only a greater sense of guilt that he had abandoned Weir when she most needed him. The thought that something might have happened to her while he was gone hastened his pace until he tripped and almost fell head-first over a rock. Steadying himself against a tree, he forced himself to slow down, less he end up in an even worse state that Weir.

Reaching the Jumper, he was relived to see that the fire was still going strong, if a little smaller than it had been the night before. Grabbing a few downed branches, he built it back up and put some water on to boil, the sight of the tin sending a stab of guilt through his guts. Looking around, he saw a light from inside the Jumper and walked over slowly, not wanting to upset Weir any more than he already had. He founder her curled up on one of the inflatable mattresses that had been added to their supplies due to their intended trade-partners habit of sleeping on bare wooden planks. He didn't have to see her eyes to know that she'd been crying; the mattress was still damp where her tears had fallen. Kneeling down beside her, he brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, his gentle touch enough to wake her.

"How long have you been there?" She yawned.

"Not long." He smiled, "I'm sorry about earlier; I was way out of line."

"You're not the one that needs to apologise; I was angry at myself, because I couldn't do more to help and you had to spend so much time helping me." Weir looked up, "And here I am, crying like a little girl because we had an argument."

"I think we'll chalk that up to the concussion." Sheppard sat down cross-legged on the floor, "We're both a little shaken by everything that's happened the past couple of days. It's only understandable that we needed to let off a little steam."

"Truce?" Weir asked hopefully.

"Truce." Sheppard nodded, "Now, how about something to eat?"

**To Be Continued...**

_I never steal lines; I simply pay homage to other works.  
__That way I can't be accused of outright plagiarism..._


	3. Hostile Reception

**His Girl Friday  
****Part 3: Hostile Reception**

It was two more days before Weir finally convinced Sheppard to go further afield to look for water; her head still hurt, but not as much as her arm and she was able to stand without feeling faint. Deciding that water was more likely to flow down hill than up, Sheppard set off away from the Jumper, following what would have been its course had it not come to rest amide the trees. Walking through the meadow, empty canteens strung across his back, he took a moment to look around properly for the first time.

The valley itself ran upwards towards distant mountains made of some strange, dark blue rock laced with lighter striations that glittered in the bright sunlight. A moving glitter hinted at a waterfall, and that meant the possibility of water somewhere deeper in the valley. The sky was the kind of azure blue you only saw in travail brochures, with a few wispy clouds at hight altitude. The grass was soft under his feet, and seemed to smell slightly of apples, as crazy as it sounded. The other end of the valley was lost amid the trees of a massive forest that stretched off into the horizon, a sea of emerald green that was only broken by a solitary cave-pocked mountain that thrust up out of the forest like the conning tower of a titanic submarine that had forced its way up through green ice. It was a truly awe-inspiring sight, and he wished that he'd taken his digital camera with him; a solar-powered charger in the survival equipment could keep at least some of their electrical equipment running for years.

Still, he had a mission to undertake, and his training told him that he was most likely to find a river or a stream in the middle of the valley, so he started off again across the knee-high grass.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Weir sat in the back of the Jumper, looking at the pile of equipment she had taken out. They had already taken a full inventory, but she couldn't help but hope that they had missed something that would get them off the planet, or at least let contact Atlantis without drawing the attention of the Wraith on the third planet. She felt a pang of regret; the natives there had been friendly and open, a refreshing change from some of the other planets she had visited since first arriving in the Pegasus Galaxy.

Some sixth sence made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she looked round slowly; the remains of the fire were smoking gently, and the utensils they had used were drying in the warm sun. nothing seemed out of place, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her. Looking round, she spotted the gun Sheppard had left her; despite his insistence that she kept it with her at all times, she had left it on top of her air-mattress, a good five meters away across open ground. Acting as nonchalantly as she could, Weir stood and took as direct a line as she dared to the weapon, pretending that she was looking for something amid the piles of supplies.

The sound was low and drawn out, the sort of sound that indicated that the maker wasn't used to having to make a big show, as word soon got around. It was the sort of sound that was normally associated with a quick, bloodily death, and bypassed the higher parts of the human brain and reached down to press the big red button marked '_Primal Terror_'. It was, above all else, the sort of sound that could only be made by a mouth that has a lot of very large, shape, teeth. Weir stood still, not even daring to breath, as the sound slowly died, only to be replaced by the soft footsteps of a very large creature that had decided that it didn't need to be quiet any more and was making its presence felt. Something big and powerful made its way out of the clearing, and Weir felt her blood turn to ice-water in her veins as she got her first good look.

It was big, huge even, at least eight-feet tall and covered in short, spiky brown fur. It looked somewhat like a Grizzly bear, but with huge sabre-like teeth protruding either side of its mouth. It reared up on its hind legs, towering over the petrified Weir and let loose a deafening roar.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard had filled the canteens in a fast-flowing stream that meandered through the middle of the valley and was on his way back when he heard the distant roar echo across the open grassland. It only took a moment for his ears to pinpoint the direction the sound had originally came from, a stab of fear striking him with near physical force. Dropping the heavy canteens, he ran as fast as he could, knowing that it would take him a worrying amount of time to cover the half-dozen miles back to the crash site. He grabbed his radio and flicked it on.

"Elizabeth?" His voice was almost frantic, "Elizabeth!"

Only the steady hiss of static greeted him, and he redoubled his efforts, finding some inner reserves to push himself harder.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Weir dived back towards the Jumper, all thoughts of going for the gun abandoned, as the bear-like creature slammed its front-legs back down onto the ground with enough force to shake the nearby trees. The creature moved with a fluid grace, almost catching Weir before she was able to dodge through the open hatch and hit the emergency controls. The hatch snapped up but jammed just short of fully closed, allowing the creature to get one massive paw in and swipe at her. Dropping to the deck, Weir rolled out of the way, getting as far into the Jumpers rear-compartment as she could, cradling her left arm.

Looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, her fingers found one of the emergency kits, and she breathed a momentary sigh of relief as she opened it to find a flare-gun and two cartridges. Snapping the gun open, she gripped the barrel under her left arm and carefully started to load the first cartridge. The sabre-tooth bear managed to force the rear hatch open another few inches, sudden jawing shacking Weir, and the flare slipped out of her fingers and rolled under one of the bench-seats. Scrabbling after it, she managed to knock her broken arm against the neck, and stars exploded before her eyes.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard ran. He ran until his muscles burned and his veins pumped battery acid. Then he ran some more.

He tripped over a large stone and fell face first to the ground, the long grass whipped against him. He ignored the pain, and the dull ache that warned him that something was amiss with his right ankle, as he got back on his feet and started running again, pushing himself harder than he'd ever done before, his vision blurring with the sweat pouring down his forehead. But no matter how hard or fast he ran, it seemed to his mind that the grove of trees that hid the downed Puddle Jumper from view were growing further and further away.

His lungs were on fire as he reached the edge of the grassland and entered the meadow itself.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Steadying herself as best she could, Weir waited for her head to stop spinning before giving up on the dropped flare cartridge and pulled the other one from its place in the foam lining of the box. The pistols breach snapped shut with a reassuring click, it's oversized barrel giving a much needed physiological boost. Cocking the hammer, she did her best to hold it stead with her good arm, waiting for the bear-like creature to reappear. And reappear it did, trying to get its snarling head through the opening. Weir took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, but it did graze the beast, the intense heat burning it, while the bright light temporarily blinded it. A blood curdling cry of pain and surprise shook the Jumper as the bear thrashed about, unable to comprehend what had happened.

Knowing that it was only a temporary reprieve, Weir reached back under the bench, this time careful so as not to knock her arm. Her fingers felt around until one of them just touched the missing flare cartridge. Stretching her arm to the point where she felt sure it was about to pop out of its socket, she was able to slowly work it free and then carefully pull it out. The enraged beast outside slammed into the side of the Jumper, making the entire pod shake violently, while it sounded like she was stuck inside a giant drum. Slipping the cartridge into gun and closing the breach, Weir made herself as secure as she could and waited for what would be her last shot.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard dashed through the trees, branches slapping and scratching his face as he made his way towards the crash site. He forced himself to stop just before the last few trees and raised his P90 to his shoulder, making sure that it was fully loaded and that the safety catch was off. Slowly now, he advanced at the ready, his years of training forcing his emotions into check as he pushed aside the last few branches and for the first time saw the creature that was attacking the Jumper.

His first reaction was a lot like Weir's: an odd mix of terror and fascination. This was soon replaced by a grim determination and gut-wrenching fear that he might already be too late. Taking careful aim, he pulled the trigger, sending a short burst into the creatures back. This served two purposes; firstly, it drew the bears attention away from the Jumper, while also seeing just how tough the creature was. Worryingly, it seemed to take the beast a few seconds to register the hits, the low-calibre bullets doing very little damage. Shifting his aim upwards, Sheppard fired again, sending a second burst into the targets shoulder. This got its attention, and it turned away from the Jumper and started to lumber towards Sheppard's position, roaring in pain, anger and confusion.

Unflinching, Sheppard flipped the selector switch to fully-automatic and pulled the trigger. The P90 rattled in his hands, and he fought to keep the kickback from rising the barrel, keeping his aim as true and steady as he could. The bear ran head-first into the hail of gunfire, huge parts of its fur being ripped off by the steady stream of 5.7mm rounds ripped into its hide, the entire 50-round magazine emptying in less than 5-seconds. The creature was a bloody mess by the time Sheppard dodged out of the way just before it was ready to trample him. He was already ejecting the spent magazine and reaching for a fresh one when he saw the beast collapse in a bloody lump, its breathing laboured. Not wanting to put it through any more pain than it already was, he looked around until he found the Beretta and slowly walked back to the animal, keeping a close eye on it to make sure that it wasn't just playing possum. Once he was sure it was safe, he aimed the pistol at the creatures head and pulled the trigger twice, putting a pair of 9mm rounds through its skull.

**To Be Continued...**

_Authors note; I had to calculate the time it would take a FN P90 to fire a full magazine based on a standard load of 50-rounds and a cycle rate of 900-rounds/minute._


	4. Alone?

**His Girl Friday  
****Part 4: Alone?**

"Look Elizabeth, you really need to know how to use a weapon." Sheppard stood holding the Beretta, "You can't rely on me being there to save you next time."

"But I don't like guns." Weir protested, "I've spent my life professional trying to stop them from being used."

"And in a perfect universe, they wouldn't be needed." Sheppard pointed at a line of empty cans he had set up on a rock a few feet away and pulled the trigger; the first target flipped up into the air, "But this is not a perfect universe," He motioned towards the dead bear-like creature that had attacked their camp the day before, "as yesterday proved."

"I don't supposed 'I just don't want to' is a valid excuse?" Weir asked hopefully as she slowly made her way over.

"No." Sheppard handed the gun over, "And neither is a note from your parents excusing you from gym."

"Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you..." Weir reluctantly lifted the weapon, pointed it in the general direction of the target. Closing her eyes, she pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, missing the target entirely and hitting a nearby rock, the ricocheted, forcing them both to duck as it passed back their way.

"Well, the first thing you need to do is keep your eyes open. And your posture needs improvement." Sheppard stood directly behind her, holding her body against his own. "Your legs need to be further apart for balance." Weir felt his foot move between her legs and move them apart, then is hands moved to her thighs, straightening them. Without breaking contact they slid up to her waist. "You also need to straighten up to keep your centre of gravity stable. You should lean slightly over the front foot to compensate for Recoil."

The feel of his hands on her hot body sent a shiver down her spine, making her pupils dilate. The feeling intensified as his hands moved up further, one snaking round to her flat stomach, pulling it back, pressing their bodies together tightly. Surprisingly soft finger continued to roam across Weir's body, adjusting her stance ever so slightly, and leaving a burning sensation wherever they touched skin. The moved up to her neck and held her head straight. Sheppard rested his chin on her shoulder, his soft breath right next to her ear.

"Take a deep breath, and let half of it out: it'll keep your hand steady." His voice seemed almost a purr in her ear, "Then squeeze the trigger smoothly."

Breathing deeply, Weir somehow managed to stop herself from gasping as Sheppard's hands slid along her arms, covering her hands as they held the gun.

"Just visualize what you want, and go for it." His voice was barely above a whisper, "Then take a deep breath, and do it." Weir didn't even notice she'd pulled the trigger until a bullet hole appeared dead centre on the distant target and it flipped up high into the air. Sheppard smiled, "Bull's-eye!"

Weir remained motionless for a few seconds, unable to even breath: she wasn't sure if it was the lingering affects of the concussion, or the painkillers she was on, but suddenly she felt a lot hotter than she had just a few minutes before. Forcing herself to take a step forward, she flicked the safety catch on.

"We're running low on water." She managed to keep her voice level, "We should go collect those canteens you dropped yesterday."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The walk down to the river was made in silence, neither of them wanting to discus what had almost happened between them. In many respects, the attraction had always been there, from the moment they first met in Antarctica. In fact, it went back before then: Weir didn't remember it, but they had first met over a month before General O'Neill's visit. finding it almost impossible to get hair dye, Weir had decided to stop colouring her hair for the first time since collage, and her dark roots where just starting to show through, something that made her stand out in a crowd, even somewhere like McMurdo Station. He hadn't been surprised when she'd brushed past him in a corridor at the base, deep in conversation with a scientist he would later learn was Rodney McKay: there were always people coming and going at the airbase, so he wasn't surprised that she hadn't given him a second thought.

The second time had been when he'd been assigned to fly supplies between the McMurdo and the Ancient Outpost berried under the ice. He'd been running through the last of the pre-flight checks when he heard the rear passenger door open and felt a blast of frozen air hit him in the back of the neck. He'd turned round, intending to snap the thoughtless passengers head off when he saw who it was; even buried under layers of thick, thermal clothing and with her face half-hidden by the wool lining of her coat's hood, there had been no mistaking who it was. While he hadn't been cleared on just who she was or what exactly was going on in the middle of the Antarctic wilderness, he knew enough to know that what ever it was it was important, and it was probably best not to upset someone with enough pull to get their own helicopter in a part of the world where transport was always at a premium. She'd only nodded to him before pulling out a stack of paperwork and started reading.

Despite her slightly aloof attitude back then, or perhaps because of it, he'd been intrigued, and had done a little digging, trying to work out just who she was and what she was doing in Antarctica. He hadn't found much; his rather chequered service record had somewhat limited the information he'd been able to get, and given the rather limited access to the satellite-communications system they had in McMurdo, he hadn't been able to simple Google 'Dr Elizabeth Weir'. So he had given up, at least for the time being, and went back to trying to enjoy what he was sure would be his last tour of duty; the Air Force hadn't been working out too well for him back then, but it let him indulge his passion for flying, so he was willing to stick with it, at least for a little longer.

Then he had met General O'Neill and had been forced to dodge an accidentally launched Drone, and his life had gotten that little bit more complicated.

"You sure this waters safe?" Weir ask as they approached the river.

"It had better be." Sheppard looked round, "I don't see any other signs of a reliable source around here."

"Then we'll have to come back in a few days and do some washing." Weir looked round until she found a small pool of relativity still water, "I don't know about you, but I only brought a few changes of cloths with me, and they're all getting a little dirty."

"Agreed." Sheppard searched round until he found the abandoned canteens and hoisted them onto his back, "Let's go: I don't want to be caught out in the open if another one of those bear-things shows up."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

They arrived back at the Jumper a little after midday, and Sheppard knew instantly that something was wrong, although it took him a long time work out what it was; none of their equipment was missing or out of place, but something was definitely out of place.

"John!" Weir pointed to the tree line; the carcase of the bear-like creature was missing, but three long spears and a machete like knife where thrust into the ground in its place.

"Into the Jumper, now!" Sheppard's tone of voice invited no argument, and Weir all but ran to the hopeful safety of the downed transport.

Sheppard inched towards the weapons, P90 at the ready, eyes darting around for the first sign of trouble. He reached them without incident, and looked round for any traps of signs that they were being watched, but couldn't see of hear anything. He slowly circled the weapons; they seemed basic, just wooden shafts with rough iron blades tied on with something that looked like animal hide. Tentatively taking hold of one of the spears, he pulled it out of the ground and took a closer look: the shaft felt like it was made out of something very similar to bamboo, but lighter and stronger. Lifting it with one arm, he noticed that it was perfectly balanced, unmistakably designed for the kill and not ornamentation.

The machete was also built to be used; the blade had been sharpened to a razor edge, the back edge much heavier than the front. He held it tentatively, getting a feel for the weapon, then hurled it towards the nearest tree. The blade struck the wood with a heavy thump, splitting the wood perfectly.

"John!" Weir appeared at the hatchway, Beretta held tightly in both hands, "What was that?"

"I don't think this planet is as uninhabited as we were lead to believe." Sheppard retrieved the machete and gathered up the spears, "And that means we could have the Wraith on our heads at any moment." He looked at the Jumper; it was half buried in the ground, its entire front third hidden under a fallen tree, "We need to shut down everything that uses power; the radio, our computers, everything. Then we need to try and disguise the Jumper, see if we can make it look like some kind of hut or cabin, at least from the air."

"But if we shut down the radio, we'll never be able to contact the others." Weir protested, "How will they ever be able to find us?"

"It's been a week; if Atlantis was going to mount some kind of search and rescue mission on their own, we probably would have heard from them by now. Now I know for a fact that McKay looked over every bit of information the database had on this system, hoping to find another ZPM, so they'll know to look for us here. But if they know the Wraith are here to stay, then they'll probably wait for the _Daedalus_ to get back before attempting anything, but we both know that they will come looking for us, one way or another. We just need to make sure we're still alive when they get here."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It took almost a week, but in the end, they managed to cut enough branches to cover the Jumper, the small hand-saw in the survival kit allowing them to cut some of the smaller branches into logs that they piled up along the sides, hiding the ships circular hull. Sheppard was more than a little surprised when Weir weaved a sunshade out of strips of bark that could be attached above the hatch to make a basic porch.

"Something I learnt at Summer Camp one year." She explained, "At it's something I can do with my arm still in this damn cast."

"I'm impressed." Sheppard nodded appreciatively, "Anything else you learnt at camp that might be useful?"

"Well, I was good at Archery, but that would be a little difficult now." Weir shrugged, then rolled her eyes when she saw the blank expression on her companions face, "I never learnt to compensate."

"What?" Sheppard thought for a second, then realisation slowly dawned, "Oh, right, gotcha."

"But, I was on my High School Varsity Track & Field team." Weir lifted one of the spears, got a feel for its weight and balance, then expertly hurled it at a target Sheppard had been trying to hit all day, striking dead-centre, "State Javelin champion, two years running."

"Why did you stop?"

"I decided I wanted to go into politics, so studying for that took up more and more of my time, much to my Coach's dismay."

"You know, even after almost three years, you still manage to surprise me on a semi-regular basis."

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Forbidden Fruit

**His Girl Friday  
****Part 5: Forbidden Fruit**

The spear sailed through the air, impacting the surface of the water dead on, but missing the target by over a foot. A silvery, salmon-like fish darted away down the river, out of sight.

"God damn it!" Sheppard hissed as he recovered the spear and went back to standing patiently on the rock overlooking a calm pool of crystal-clear water, "Tom Hanks made this look so easy in _Cast Away_."

"That was a film, John: this is, surprisingly, real life." Weir smiled from where she sat on the other bank, tending the one fishing line they had found in their survival kit, "And while your '_Me Tarzan, You Jane_' routine is somewhat humours to watch, you're scaring away the fish."

Sheppard muttered something under his breath and sat cross-legged on the rock, eyes scanning the valley for any signs of danger.

"I've been thinking." He said after some time, "We should try and find whoever took that bear and left the spears and the machete."

"You think that's wise?" Weir looked up, "I'm no anthropologist, but I think its clear from the fact that we've not seen or heard anything else for almost a month now, that they don't want anything more to do with us."

"Then why take the bear? Why leave the weapons?"

"A mark of respect?"

"To who? Us or the Bear?"

"Good question." Weir thought on it for a moment, but any reply she was planning was forgotten when there was a series of tugs on the fishing line, "I've got something!"

"Easy, easy!" Sheppard looked for an easy way to get across the gap between the two rocky outcrops, and immediately discounted jumping; he was sure he could make it, but his hands and feet were still wet from recovering the spear and the last thing he wanted to do was slip and break his neck. "Ease it in gently; you don't want to snap the line."

"These things are tested to over two hundred pounds: I don't think it'll be braking any time soon." Weir reassured him, "And I do now how to fish."

"Summer camp?" Sheppard asked as he carefully made his way down to the river and the continently placed stepping stones.

"No; my father." Weir explained as she slowly reeled in the line, "One of the few things we did together."

"I'm not complaining." Sheppard reached the other side and made his way up onto the rock, trying to ignore the fact that Weir had removed her tunic and was wearing only a light t-shirt and a sports-bra. He forced himself to concentrate on the fish, "You sure you got it?"

"I'm afraid I don't think it's that big." Weir likewise forced herself to concentrate, ignoring the feel of having Sheppard's body so close to her own. "I can manage it."

"Well, don't let it go; it's dinner." Sheppard lowered himself onto the edge of the outcropping and looked down into the river, "I don't suppose your daddy taught you how to gut them too?"

"As a matter of fact, he did." Weir smiled as the fish broke the surface; it was lager than she'd dared hope, but was still splashing about in a bid to get away. "But if you think I'm cooking it as well..."

"Relax: I'm a god when it comes to the grilled." Sheppard grabbed the fish as soon as it was within reach and pulled it onto the bank, "Damn, I wish we'd bough the camera; it's a trophy catch."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

True to his word, Sheppard was able to grill the fish to perfection, along with a selection of native fruits that he had run through the scanner before they had shut it down. The new fire was a lot closer to the back of the Jumper, protected on three sides by a low wall that they had put up in the hopes that it would make the camp harder to spot from a distance. Sheppard also insisted that they used only dry wood to minimise the smoke. Weir took a bight out of something that looked like an apple but tasted oddly of peaches; the soft flesh of the fruit all but melted on her lips, sending a steam of juice down either side of her mouth.

"We have to take some of these back to Atlantis with us." She insisted as she tilted her head back to try and recapture as much of the sweet liquid as she could, "We could make a killing with them back on Earth."

"I'm not sure we're allowed to make any money out of what we find off-world." Sheppard smiled as he took a might of an identical fruit, "And I'm sure the IOA would want a cut."

"Hell, with this stuff we could make the entire expedition self-financing." Weir laughed, feeling strangely warm despite the relatively cool night air. She slipped her jacket off her shoulders and pulled her t-shirt out of her pants. Leaning back, she shifted her weight to the right, trying to protect her still slightly painful left arm.

Sheppard shifted somewhat uncomfortably, trying his best to ignore the way Weir looked: he felt oddly light headed, almost as if he'd been knocking back beers all night. But that was stupid; they had nothing alcoholic, and even if they did, he'd only been drinking water. Looking around, he saw the remains of the fresh-fruit salad he'd put together; almost all of the 'apples' were gone, and as he watched, Weir took the last one and took a big bight.

"Elizabeth." He found the words came out slightly slurred, "I think there's something funny about that stuff."

"I think it's wonderful." she laughed, her mouth full of the pulp, juice running down her chin. She looked at him oddly for a moment, then smiled, "I think you're wonderful too."

"You're drunk." He warned her.

"So are you." Weir moved closer closer, almost leaning over him, "You're also cute."

"Maybe we should..." Sheppard started to back away, but Weir placed a finger on his lips to stop him.

"Enough talking." Her lips moved in to hover over his, "I've wanted to do this for a long, long time."

Sheppard's complaints died unsaid as their lips met, the sweet tang of the fruit mixing with something else, something that could only be Elizabeth Weir. His lips opened automatically, and her tough invaded his mouth, as she shifted her weight until she was pushing him down onto the deck.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Weir opened her eyes and swore; there should be some kind of law against the sun being that bright first thing in the morning. Her head felt like it was two sizes to small, and her mouth was uncomfortably dry. There was also an odd sensation that she had two extra hands: one resting on her thigh, the other held against her abdomen...

She opened her eyes slowly and looked down: they were most definitely _**NOT**_ her hands, and she _**WAS**_ naked under what was unmistakably _**NOT**_ her sleeping bag. Reaching back with her free hand, she felt soft, warm skin that was definitely not hers, but was pressed up against her back. She also became aware of a soft, slow breath against the back of her neck, and memories of the night before started to fall into place. Her mind raced as well as it could while suffering from what felt to all intense and purposes to be a major hangover, and she grimaced when she remembered the way she had acted. Then she felt a thrill run down her spine when she remembered just how Sheppard had reacted, and how they had acted together.

It had been a long time since she'd last been with a man: she'd still considered herself involved with Simon during her first year in Atlantis, and then after he'd told her that he couldn't be a part of the life she'd chosen for herself, there hadn't been many chances to find someone else. Yes, she had been attracted to Sheppard, but he'd always cone across as a little to free with his affections for her to take him seriously as a potential partner, and she wasn't the kind of woman who went in for one-night stands. And there had been no one else who had interested her in the same way, so she had just accepted that she was going to have to put her personal life on hold for the next few years.

And now this, which complicated matters. She liked, maybe even loved Sheppard, but as a friend and college, nothing more. And now? Now there was going to be a 'thing' between them, one way or another, and she wasn't sure she could deal with that. She had always, _always_ kept her professional and private lives separate; it was a rule she lived by. She'd seen all too many office romances end badly to ever want to risk it. She could blame the fruit: he had said that there was something funny about it. It obviously had some kind of intoxicating affect on humans, so on second thoughts it was probably best _not_ to take any back to Atlantis with them.

Sheppard shifted, opened his eyes and swore under his breath.

"Elizabeth?" He asked somewhat hesitantly.

"John." How she managed to keep her voice level was beyond her.

"Maybe we should get dressed?" Sheppard suggested after a while, "I'm going to roll over to my left, so if you move to your right, I'll be able to get my arm free."

"Okay." Weir nodded slowly, "One tree?"

"On three. One, two, three!"

They moved slowly away from each other and sat up, back to back, each looking around for their own cloths, or at least enough to cover themselves. Finding what they could, they got dressed quickly and in silence, neither of them daring to look at anything but the bulkhead.

"I think we can agree that apples are off the menu." Sheppard said somewhat slowly, risking a glance over his shoulder.

"Yes." Weir nodded again, refusing to meet his eye, "How much do you remember?"

"Truthfully?" Sheppard winced, "All of it, even if I do have the worst hangover of my life. I mean, what kind of fruit gets you that drunk, gives you a killer hangover, but doesn't have the decency to wipe out your short-term memory?"

"I think we can agree that it would be best if we never mentioned this again, and leave it out of our reports."

"I can live with that: I'm not a '_notches on the bedpost_' kind of guy."

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few minute's, neither of them willing to move, let along speak. A million thoughts ran though their heads, trying to come to terms with what had happened.

"So..." Sheppard took a deep breath, "Coffee?"

**To Be Continued...**


	6. The Lesser Of Two Evils

**His Girl Friday  
****Part 6: The Lesser Of Two Evils**

It was, difficult, getting back into their normal relationship after what had happened. As Sheppard had started, the intoxicating affects of the fruit lacked the memory loss associated with alcohol, which may have made things easier. As it was, remembering exactly what had happened with crystal clarity was painfully embarrassing. It was days before they could look each other in the eye, even longer before they could hold a conversation that was longer than a few words. In the end, it was the other thing on their mind that broke the tension.

"It's been two months." Sheppard sat at one side of the camp fire, looking up at the stars, trying to map the unfamiliar constellations in his head, "I though the _Daedalus_ would be back by now."

"Three weeks to Earth, then another three weeks back to Atlantis, assuming that they could return right away." Weir looked at him over the top of her tin tea-cup, savouring what little remained of their dwindling supply of her favourite drink, "I think we still have a little while before we can write off any rescue attempt. And if the Wraith are here to stay, then there's not much we can do but sit and wait for the others to come up with some kind of plan."

"Either way, I think we need to assume that we're going to be here for a lot longer than we'd like, and make plans accordingly." Sheppard pulled out a notebook and flipped through the pages, "I've been trying to make a rough estimate of how long each day is, when sunrise, noon and sunset are, and I've come to a rather disturbing conclusion..."

"Winter is coming." Weir nodded, smiling at the confused look on her companions face, "Even as a kid, I was always able to tell when the first hint of autumn was in the air; my mother used to say that you could set your calender by it."

"Yes, well, winter equal cold and snow and other such niceties, especially at this altitude. I think we we should look at making some preparations."

"Such as?"

"Well, the only shelter we really have at the moment is the Jumper, so we need to make the most of it: I want to try and take the back two seats out of the front section, and find some way to cover over the window. It's not rained yet, but it will and I for one don't want to get wet. Then we need to look at stocking up on fire wood what foods we can preserve somehow. I know it's a lot of work, but you're arms getting better..."

"It's okay, John; I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Another week passed uneventfully, the days filled with hard work that made it thankfully easy to sleep at night. True to his word, Sheppard managed to remove two of the seats from the front of the Jumper, and with a little hard work, turned them into something that they could sit on outside. Then he went to work constructing a cover for the shattered front window, while Weir collected what fruit and nuts they could find locally, experimenting in drying it in the sun to see if it would keep. She had offered to go fishing again, but Sheppard had vetoed the idea until he could go with her, still afraid that another of the sabre-tooth bear like creatures might be lurking in every shadow.

Weir had protested, but found it hard to make a compelling case: he was only trying to protect her, and with her arm still a little weak, she couldn't carry or use the P90, the only weapon they had that they knew could stop the creatures if they attacked again. So instead she sat about her allotted task with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, spending most of her waking time away from camp. This helped disguise the fact that she'd been feeling a little uneasy for the past few days, and had found it hard to keep anything down. She racked her brain for a rational explanation, flat out refusing to accept the obvious answer, even if she was a little late. After all, she'd lost quiet a bit of weight since arriving, and that was know to mix up a woman's cycle.

That had to be the answer, didn't it?

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"I'm going to go back to the river and get some more water." Sheppard announced two days later, "I shouldn't be more than a few hours. Just remember to keep your gun with you at all times, and try keep an eye and an ear open for anything out of the ordinary."

"Okay." Weir nodded, trying to keep her emotions under control, "We need to talk, when you get back. It's important."

"Okay: I should be back in an hour or two." Sheppard just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. Without a second thought, he turned and walked away; canteens over one shoulder, while of of the spears rested over the other, his P90 hanging from his webbing. He started to whistle tunelessly under his breath, his long legs covering the ground quickly.

Weir sat and watched him until he disappeared from view through the trees: in truth, she needed the extra time to work up the courage to tell him what she had only recently come to accept herself. She kicked herself mentally, knowing that if she was going to tell him, and she knew that she had to at some point, she was going to have to bring herself to at least say it out loud, even if in her own head to start with.

She was pregnant, and there was no way of getting round the fact: she had missed her period and was suffering classic symptoms of morning sickness. She knew that it would be another week until she could be absolutely certain, but the sooner it was out in the open, the better. Sheppard had an annoying tendency to watch her when he thought she wasn't looking: she'd confronted him with it once, and he'd mumbled something about it being his job to look out for her, but she'd long suspected that there was more to it than that. So far she'd been lucky enough to be able to hide her condition from him, but it was only a matter of time until he saw enough to piece the clues together and come to his own conclusion. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she'd been trying to hide it from him; she valued their friendship too much to risk that.

She knew that, in part, it was her own fault: she'd been on the pill when they'd first arrived in Atlantis, but there hadn't been much room for contraceptives in their initial load of medical supplies, so she had stopped taking it, helping to conserve what they had for the more active members who hadn't opted for an implant. Then when she'd briefly returned to Earth, only to be told by Simon that their relationship was over, there hadn't seemed the need to start taking it again. It had taken a while for her body to readjust to regulating its own hormone levels, but equilibrium had returned. And now here she was: trapped on a supposedly uninhabited planet and pregnant by a man she loved as a friend and college.

The idea of motherhood had always seemed a distant possibility to her: a lifetime spent running around the world trying to stop little wars growing into bigger ones and attempting to stop the spread of weapons of mass destruction hadn't lent itself to family life, as all of her past partners had told her when they left. In fact, it wasn't until she had moved to DC and become involved with Simon that she had given it any real thought, and by then she was worried that she might have left it too late. She wasn't as young as she had been, and advances in medical science aside, there was only so much that they could do. She had planed to at least attempt to get pregnant, after the wedding, spurred on by all the nights she had returned to some cold, empty rented apartment somewhere. While she felt that her life had meant something, she had always been always aware that her personal life had suffered for the sake of her career.

Still, she had to tell Sheppard when he returned; while they may only be friends and colleges, he had every right to know, and she would need his full support until they returned to Atlantis. The concept that she might have to carry the child to term on the planet they had found themselves on was not one she was willing to entertain. She knew that he would understand, and would be supportive: his roguish sense of humour aside, she knew that he was a deeply honourable man who wouldn't shirk his responsibilities. She also knew that the IOA would expect her to stand down as head of the expedition, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard enjoyed the walk to the river: they'd made the trip enough times now to make a path through the long grass, and that made the going a lot easier. The sun was shinning, what passed for birds were singing, and he was final able to look at Weir without the memories of what had happened between them running through his head like an adult movie. What made it worse was the fact that he was attracted to her, and his feeling where deeper than he was willing to admit. But she was the expedition's leader, and he was technically her subordinate, although the lines were a little blurred in places. All he did know was that things had been strained between them ever since that night, and were only know returning to something approaching normal.

His instincts told him that something was wrong a few seconds before he noticed that the birdsong had died away. Crouching down, he dropped the canteens and gripped the spear tightly in both hands and he strained to hear anything through the long grass. Something, he couldn't say what, was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Then he sensed it; a series of heavy tremors, noticeable even through his thick, standard issue boots, a sure sign that something big was travelling at speed nearby. He started to reach for his P90 with one hand, when his ears picked up the unmistakable sound of running, feet, and he spun round, spear at the ready.

A terrified young woman, no more than sixteen years old with skin like mahogany and jet-black hair, burst out of a thicket right in front of him, almost impaling herself on the end of the spear. She skidded to a halt, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and terror as she stole a glance over her shoulder. She looked at Sheppard, seemingly trying to work out the lesser of two evils, before diving past him just as one of the sabre-tooth bears burst through the same patch of thick undergrowth she had appeared through. It reared up on its powerful hind legs and swatted the spear out of Sheppard's hands with one mighty paw. It's roar was full of anger and power, shaking the very ground they stood on.

"Oh crap!" He swallowed hard as he turned and ran, following the stranger deeper into the long grass, the beast at their heals.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Weir heard the creatures roar echo off the distant mountains, and her blood ran cold as she instructively drew the Beretta from the holster on her hip. She checked to make sure the safety catch was on before she thumbed back the hammer, just as Sheppard had shown her. She retreated for the relative safety of the Jumper: its thick metal walls had already proven an effective defence. Making herself as comfortable as she could, she sat down to await Sheppard's return, certain that he would abandon his trip to the river and return to the camp site post-haste.

An icy hand gripped her heart as she heard a short rattle of gunfire that was cut off by another, even louder roar.

**To Be Continued...**


	7. Right Of Passage

**His Girl Friday  
****Part 7: Right Of Passage**

Realising that he'd never outrun the creature chasing him, Sheppard skidded to a halt and ducked down just in time to avoid the massive paw that would have otherwise taken his head clean off of his shoulders as the beat reared up on its hind legs. Hitting the ground hard, he rolled onto his back, bring his P90 up in one fluid, practised move. Relying on pure instinct, he pulled the trigger, sending a short burst into the bears soft under belly. To snarled, slamming back down with enough force to shake the ground, forcing Sheppard to roll to one side to avoid being crushed. He brought the P90 around again, but the weapon jammed the instant he pulled the trigger.

"Oh _hell_ no!" He cursed, looking at it for a split-second with a look of betrayal on his face, before the bear took another swipe at him, forcing him to dive out of the way, the useless weapon hanging from his webbing. He hit the ground hard, the force of impact driving the air from his lungs. He gasped for breath, knowing that every moment of hesitation cloud mean the end of his life, but his body refused to obey.

A new sound filled the air: it was a cry of anger, fear and determination, driven by something primordial. Sheppard looked round just in time to see a man dressed in a simple tunic erupt out of the long grass and land high on the bears back, a long, cycle shaped sword in one hand, while the other grabbed a handful of the beasts thick hair. Sunlight glinted off the blade as it cut through the air before slicing into the creatures back, sending a splash of blood flying. Again and again the man slashed and hacked at his target, all the time keeping a steady grip on its back while it did its best to dislodge him. The scent of fresh blood filled the air, making Sheppard reach as he kicked his feet out to back himself away from the frenzied battle, trying to unjam his P90: he wasn't sure just who was going to win, but he wanted to be ready in case they weren't friendly.

Finally, through blood loss and exertion, the bear collapsed, its breathing growing slow and laboured. The stranger jumped off of its back and walked round to look it in the eye. The two of them stood, looking at each other for a moment, before the man brought his sword round one last time, the razor sharp blade slicing cleanly though the bears neck, severing the windpipe. The bears body shuddered once, then went still.

"Um, hi!" Sheppard smiled, trying to look as non-threatening as he could when confronted by a man that had just taken down a massive sabre-toothed bear singled handed, "I don't suppose the phrase 'I some in peace' means anything to you?"

The stranger looked at him, seeming to size him up, his hand tightening its grip on the bloodstained sword. His eyes were bright and alert, but still showed the same killer instinct that had driven the near suicidal attack on the bear. Sheppard almost had a stroke when the young woman he had almost killed earlier ran out of the long grass and wrapped her arms around the stranger, burying her head in his neck. He looked at the two of them for a moment, and realised that they looked a lot alike, possibly brother and sister, or at least cousins.

"Well, it's been fun and all, but I really should be going." Sheppard started to back away, but found himself walking into what felt uncomfortable like the tip of at least two spears, "You know, this kind of stuff never happened to Kirk..."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Weir sat huddles in the back of the Jumper, torn between her overwhelming terror and the burning need to go out and find Sheppard, to make sure he was aright. Checking yet again that the Beretta was loaded and ready, then placed in back in its holster, before retrieving the flair-gun, remembering how effective it had been. Making sure that the last remaining cartridge was in place, and grabbed one of the spears and the lighter of the two first-aid kits: she knew that if Sheppard needed the larger kit, then he wouldn't be in a fit state to walk back to camp, even with her assistance. She set out with a growing sence of interpretation, all her senses keys to try and pick up the first sign of danger. Walking as quickly as she dared, she followed the by now well worn path through the trees out out the other side into the long grass.

Sweaty hands gripping the spear, she inched her way forward until she came across the abandoned canteens: one of them had been flattened by some immanence weight, the two ragged claw marks that perforated it making it clear just what that weight had been, while the spear he had been carrying lay broken to one side. Her stomach lurched; from morning sickness or fear, she couldn't tell. Forcing herself to continued, she followed the beasts tracks through the long grass, every step bring with it the fresh fear that she'd come across her companions remains. The stench of fresh blood assaulted her nostrils, and she had to physically force herself to step through the last patch of long grass.

Stepping out into a clearing, she reached as the bears body came into view, surrounded by a large number of fly like insects and other such carrion. Blood covered the ground and was splattered across the tick blades of grass. The glint of early afternoon sunlight on spent bullet casings showed where Sheppard attempted to make his stand, but they were pitifully few considering he had left camp with a full magazine. Mentally preparing for the worst, she looked around for his body, the fear that she would now be alone on such a dangerous planet.

"John..." She croaked, her moth dry. She swallowed a few times, taking a deep breath before trying again, "John? John, can you hear me?"

There was nothing, nothing but the buzzing of the flies and the soft rustle of the wind though the long-grass.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard's foot tripped on a rock and he fell forward, landing face first on the ground. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to get back to his feet, the way his hands were tied behind his back making it hard to regain his balance, but he finally managed it. Looking round at his captures, he saw the way they looked at him, with fear and confusion in their eyes. That he could understand; his pale skin was significantly lighter than their own, and his uniform was in stark contrast to the tunics and short, knee length trousers they wore, and while he wore a pair of sturdy USAF issue boots, they were barefoot.

They had stripped him of anything that could have been considered a weapon back where their apparent leader had killed the bear, but no one had said a word the entire time; they seemed to communicate with hand gestures and whistles. He had tried to talk to them on more than one occasion, but had earned himself a a jab in the ribs with the butt of a spear for his troubles; it was obvious that they wanted silence. The path they followed led down towards the river, several miles downstream from where he had fished with Weir just a few days before.

Just thinking about her sent a pang of guilt through him; there had been know way for him to leave any kind of warning or message for her, and he still felt that it was his duty to protect her. Now here he was; being led away by a group of natives armed with spears and swords. He knew that he could have used his P90 back when they'd captured him, and would have had a better than average chance of fighting he way clear, but that would have meant wounding or even killing at lest four other men, let alone the young girl who'd been his first contact with them. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't being escorted to a social event, but he knew that playing along was his bet chance of getting out of there with his skin intact.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Weir collected the discarded canteens, ignoring the damaged one, and went down to the river to fill them. Her actions were automatic, almost as if she was sleepwalking: her mind unable or unwilling to process what had happened. The first real thought she had for many hours was to light the camp fire, mainly to keep warm; her stomach was just too unsettled for her to eat anything. Instead she just sat, looking at the flames.

She felt like she should cry, but she found it impossible: that would be too much like admitting that Sheppard was never coming back, that the _Daedalus_ was never going to rescue them. These were both things she couldn't allow herself to even contemplate. Perhaps, if it has just been her, she might have given in to despair, but she was now responsible for another life, so giving up was not an option. Sheppard would be back, the _Daedalus_ would rescue them. All she had to do was hold on until then. With this renewed determination came a sense of deep inner peace as she felt something powerful welling up inside her, a deep inner strength that she had never realised was there, making its way to the surface. Oh yes, she would survive.

And wow betide anything that stood in her way.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Sheppard had found the hike difficult: the distance wasn't the issue, but having his hands tied behind his back meant he had to be extra careful about making sure the ground beneath his feet was solid before he shifted his weight. Despite this, he fell several times, his captures never once offering to help him back up. The open grassland had been bad enough, but trying to pick his way down the twisting tack that lead down through the rocks where the forest started was almost impossible without his arms to balance himself with. Yet somehow he managed, and was led to a small lake just past the tree-line, where the party came to an abrupt stop.

It was a raft. A big one, with a sail, but a raft none the less.

A nudge with the end of a spear indicated that he should climb aboard, and he managed to do so without falling into the water. Finding a spot where he could sit down rather than topple onto the deck proved more of a challenge, but by backing himself up against the mast, he was able to slowly work his way down until he was sitting cross-legged on the rough wooden beams that made up the raft itself. The others quickly cast off, using long wooden polls to move the craft into the deeper water at the middle of the river, and it was soon moving along at a reasonable speed, the massive, overhanging trees providing some shelter.

Closing his eyes, Sheppard lent his head back against the mast and offered up a silent pray to any higher beings that might be listening to keep an eye on Weir.

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
